


Don't you worry, child

by Lalinka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Dean, Cursed Dean, Curses, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalinka/pseuds/Lalinka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam and Dean are hunting a witch, she curses Dean to buy herself some time to run. Now Sam is stuck with a ten-year-old Dean. He has to find a way to reverse the curse, take care of Dean and deal with the aftermaths. He soon realizes, that even at 10 years, Dean's psyche isn't all that intact... And it wouldn't be Sam, if he didn't try to press the issue as much as he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I always get emotional reading fics, where Dean gets turned into child and Sam learns a bit more about his brother. I’m known for my obsession with using Sam to make Dean’s life better, so naturally, I had to write one too. But I’m not a fan of abusive John, so I focused on Dean’s self worth issues instead. I hope you’ll enjoy it.

This hunt had gone downhill from the moment they discovered, who the witch they hunted was, and where was she living. Of course, Dean had to go first into the cabin in the forest and the door slam right on Sam’s face as he tried to follow. He heard his brother’s surprised yell and then a thump of something hitting the floor and then silence. He’d be furious with Dean for being so stubborn about putting himself in constant danger on Sam’s behalf, if he hadn't been so terrified for him.  
  
When he finally broke the massive wooden door down, he found himself in a quite regular looking apartment. Then he heard his brother cry out from upstairs and without thinking, he ran after the sound.  
  
Dean was there; his face was scrunched in pain, as a young, black-haired woman was gripping his short hair tightly to expose his throat. It was their witch. And she held a knife against Dean’s pulse point.  
  
Sam stopped dead in his tracks. The horror of seeing Dean so close to death and the fear of losing him got the better of him and he dropped the gun he’d been holding immediately.  
  
“No,” he more begged than anything else, as he approached the witch and his brother with his hands up to show he was unarmed. “Please, don’t. Don’t kill him. We’ll leave you alone, just let him go.”  
  
Dean shot him a  _What the fuck are you doing?_ look and the witch darted her eyes between her knife and Sam nervously.  
  
“I don’t want to kill him,” she said in a quiet voice. “I don’t kill people!”  
  
“Good, then don’t,” Sam answered and took one step closer.  
  
“But you won’t leave me alone!” She quickly pulled back, dragging Dean with her. The knife scraped the skin on Dean’s throat and a few red droplets were sliding down to the collar of his shirt.  
  
“No!” Sam yelled and felt his eyes start to water. His mind was supplying him with images of Dean already dead and dropping down to the floor with the light in his green eyes gone. It hurt too much to even think about it.  
  
“Sammy...” Dean managed to rasp out. “It’s okay,” he smiled reassuringly.  
  
“Fuck you, Dean!” Sam yelled. This was not the right time or place for Dean’s nonchalance and willingness to die. “Please, you have my word. Please,” he pleaded.  
  
She quickly looked around the attic, and then reached for something in a drawer of one of the tables.  
  
“I'm sorry,” she said, glancing at Sam one more time. “You wouldn't let me leave.”  
  
She drew back the hand that was now gripping a small flask from the table, and smashed it into Dean’s chest. Sam jumped to stop her, but it was too late. Dean let out a gasp as the air left his lungs on the impact and fell on his knees, his eyes wide and surprised.  
  
There was a bright light coming from Dean’s chest. Sam tried to go to him and find out whether he was harmed or not, but he had to cover his eyes and then duck his head, because the light almost burned his eyes out.  
  
When the light finally faded and Sam blinked the blindness away from his eyes, there was a heap of Dean’s clothes in the centre of the room. And under all the clothing was an unconscious body of a ten-year-old boy.  
  


-

  
  
Sam drove back to their hotel room as fast as he could. He placed Dean on their bed and that was when he realized, that while sharing a bed with a 29-year-old brother might escape the unwanted attention, sharing bed with a ten-year-old was just gonna get him arrested. He didn't even know whether Dean would know he had been cursed, when he woke up.  
  
So, as quickly as he could, he went to the lobby to change his room for one with two queens. Then he moved Dean there. He deliberately took the back route and hoped no one noticed him carrying around a limp body of a little boy. Then he realized, as he watched Dean in what appeared a peaceful slumber, still wrapped in the oversized clothes, that he had  _nothing_  to offer him once he woke up.  
  
He checked the time and figured that if he set out right now, he might still make it to a mall to buy some clothes. He hesitated for a while, because he wasn't sure if leaving a child-Dean all by himself was the smartest idea. After a moment, he decided it was the dumbest idea ever, but that he still had to go through with it. He quickly pulled the Impala out of the parking lot, grabbed the first bunch of t-shirts and pants that he hoped Dean would like and hurried back to their motel room. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or worried that Dean hadn't woken up.  
  
He took out Dean’s clothes out of his duffel and hid it in his. Then he put the clothing he’d bought earlier into the bag. He checked Dean’s pulse and breathing and it all seemed normal, except for the fact that he wouldn't wake up, not even when Sam shook him. So he just plopped onto his own bed, waiting for Dean to wake up on his own terms. The stress and emotional distress caught up with him and he fell into a restless sleep.  
  


-

  
  
The first thing he noticed, when he finally started to regain consciousness again, was the small soft voice. He couldn't make out what it was saying, but the voice was strangely familiar, even though he couldn't place it. Then he managed to crack his eyes open and then he sat bolt right up, when he saw the barrel of a gun pointed at his forehead.  
  
“What the hell?” he raised his eyebrows, when he found out that the person behind the gun was a little boy. Then he remembered the events of the previous day.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
The boy was obviously surprised that Sam knew his name, but his hand never even wavered.  
  
“Who are you? How do you know my name? What am I doing here? Where’s dad?”  
  
 _Shit._  Sam thought.  
  
Dean obviously didn't remember anything. He thought he was a ten-year-old self and- _shit._  
  
Sam sighed and forced his sleepy brain to its full speed to come with some believable cover story.  
  
“My name is Sam. You...you were cursed last night. Your dad dropped you off, because I was close and I'm supposed to look after you.”  
  
It sounded pretty good in Sam’s head, but Dean didn't look too convinced.  
  
“What about Sammy?”  
  
“Sammy’s with dad. We didn't know what kind of a curse it was, so he’s driving him to Pastor Jim’s. He’ll be back in a few days to deal with the curse.”  
  
With that, Sam made a mental note to call dad as soon as possible and drag his ass here, because there was no way, he could tell Dean the truth and have Dean believe him. Especially since Dean thought, his brother was six years old.  
  
Dean lowered the gun and blinked in surprise.  
  
“I...I'm dangerous to Sammy?” his head snapped up and there was a sheer horror in his eyes for a moment. “Did I hurt him?”  
  
“No, of course not,” Sam took the gun from him and his reflex was to comfort Dean with a touch to his shoulder, but the boy pulled away. “It’s just a precaution.”  
  
“How come I've never heard of you,” he eyed Sam curiously.  
  
Sam never thought of Dean as stupid, but he was too perceptive and bright for Sam to get away with easy lies, and that wasn't very convenient now.  
  
“I and John aren't really close,” Sam had to smile sadly at how true that statement actually was. “But he’s a hunter and so am I and we help each other. He trusts me enough to put you into my care, but if it’ll make you feel better, feel free to run the tests on me.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “He’d put me into anyone’s care if he thought I was a danger to Sam.” He looked away, but he was unable to hide the sadness from his face.  
  
That was when Sam realized, he was left alone with a Dean, that had their childhood still fresh in his memory and that hadn't managed to build his walls up just yet. Maybe it was a chance for him to understand the man he loved so deeply. Maybe he’d be able to love him even better and give him what he needed.  
  
“Hey, that’s not true,” he tried smiling reassuringly. “I almost had to kick him out of the door, or he would be still here, telling me how to and how not to take care of you.”  
  
When he saw the honest surprise in Dean’s eyes, he couldn't even bring himself to regret lying to his vulnerable brother.  
  
“I can take care of myself, you know? You don’t have to...I mean, you sure want to move on and go on another hunt...and not babysit some stupid kid that got itself cursed...” he looked down again.  
  
“If I didn't have the time, I wouldn't have said yes to John, don’t worry.”  
  
It scared him a little that already at 10 years, Dean thought so little of himself. As far as Sam could remember, Dean was the poster boy for awesome and doing everything right, when they were little.  
  
“So, since you've so kindly woken me up,” Sam said sarcastically. “How about you let me take a shower?”  
  
“I-I'm sorry,” Dean took a step back, as though he was scared that he pissed Sam off. “I just...I woke up and I couldn't remember how I got here and you were there...and Dad wasn't...”  
  
“It’s okay, Dean, really. I'm still up for the tests, if you’d like.”  
  
Dean hesitantly searched his duffel for a small bottle of Holy water and poured a few drops into Sam’s palm. Then he took out a silver knife and cut Sam’s skin so softly, it didn't even hurt.  
  
“Now I feel like an idiot...” Dean bit his bottom lip, when none of the tests he put Sam through caused any reaction.  
  
“You’d be an idiot if you  _hadn't_  done those tests,” Sam smiled. “I'm taking the shower now.” He got up, but stop in the bathroom door. “Don’t go anywhere, you hear me? You’re not a prisoner, but we still don’t know what that curse did to you.”  
  
Sam closed the door, got into the shower and sighed. He knew  _damn_  well what the curse had done to Dean. He just didn't know if it was a temporary thing or whether it could be reversed or not. And he had to call dad. He brushed his teeth quickly and when he walked out, Dean was sitting by a table, eating a sandwich. There was a plate with one for Sam, too.  
  
“You made me breakfast?” Sam was taken aback.  
  
“Yeah, that a bad thing?” Dean asked with his mouth full. Sam had to chuckle at how some things seemed to never change.  
  
“Nah, just didn't expect you to,” Sam said as he sat down and took a bite. “Mmm!” he exclaimed. “This is good! Better than the things I buy at fast foods, that’s for sure!”  
  
Dean smiled and lowered his eyes in humidity that was definitely not false.  
  
“I make food for Sammy all the time. I try my best.”  
  
“Your brother’s lucky to have you,” Sam smiled.  
  
He was surprised, when Dean’s face darkened and he looked away for a moment. But then he blinked and the expression was gone. Sam decided to let it slide this time, because he really needed to make the call.  
  
“I’ll go buy some food into town. You want anything?” he said, standing up and grabbing his jacket.  
  
“Pie?” Dean looked up at him.  
  
“Sure, I’ll get you a pie,” Sam laughed and walked out.  
  
He dialled their father’s number and was actually surprised, when the man picked up after the fifth ring.  
  
 _“Hello?”_  said a gruff voice.  
  
“Hi dad, it’s Sam. Happy to hear from me?”  
  
 _“What do you want, Sam?”_  
  
Yeah right, because Sam had to  _want_  something to call the older man. Well, he kind of did, so he wasn't about to argue.  
  
“It’s about Dean. We were hunting a witch. He...he got cursed and...”  
  
 _“Is he alright?”_  Wow, that actually sounded like genuine concern.  
  
“Well, yes and no,” Sam said.  
  
 _“Sam...”_  
  
“He’s ten year old now, dad. Both body and mind. He thinks we’re still hunting together and that his brother is six years old. I told him I was watching him, because you took Sa-  _me_  – to pastor Jim’s and that you’d come back. I need you to come here, dad. If I told him the truth, he would just run away and...he’s just a kid. I can’t keep an eye on him and try to reverse the curse at the same time. Just come here, please.”  
  
Dad sighed on the other end of the line.  
  
 _“Where are you?”_  
  
Sam gave him the directions and John promised that he would come in a couple days.  
  
 _“You said he was what, ten?”_  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
 _“Sam, your brother had a quite strong allergic reaction to garlic. It went away, when he was fifteen or so. So watch out for that. And don’t shower him with pie. He has a way of making people do his bidding, but believe it or not, I tried to get you both to eat properly, as long as you were still growing up, actually,”_  John said and Sam’s mouth just fell open.  
  
All he remembered about John from when he was six was the  _absence_  of him. How did he know all this, when Sam himself had no idea? John rambled on for good ten minutes, trying to remember as much about ten-year-old Dean as possible.  
  
 _“And get him to sleep early. No late TV. And absolutely_ no _hunting. Just...just give him a better childhood than I ever have, even just for a few days. And take care of yourself.”_  He didn't wait for Sam to answer and cancelled the call. There was a strange note of underlying sadness and regret to their father’s voice and Sam wondered, if he regretted the way he’d brought Dean up.  
  
Sam grabbed the pie as promised with the rest of the food and went back to the motel. Dean was obviously bored out of his mind, but waited obediently, surfing through the channels of the old motel TV. But at this time of day, there was nothing that would catch his eye.  
  
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, when Sam closed the door behind him.  
  
“About?”  
  
“The curse.”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam sat on his own bed and raised an eyebrow, encouraging Dean to go on.  
  
“Well, you said I was out of it, when dad brought me here, right? And since I can’t remember hunting any witches...I actually don’t seem to remember past few days  _at all_ , maybe it was something that erased my memory of the hunting in general, to prevent me from hunting it, you know?”  
  
Sam blinked. That made absolute sense and if Sam didn't know better, he knew he would have gone for Dean’s theory in a heartbeat. He was also struck by Dean’s way of talking. If his voice wasn't appropriate to his age, he might as well be speaking to an adult.  
  
Dean obviously mistook Sam’s silence for an answer.  
  
“Well...it just occurred to me...it’s probably wrong, yeah. Let’s wait for dad, he’ll know better,” he said quietly, looking down at his hands again.  
  
“No, it’s actually brilliant,” Sam said truthfully. “I'm kind of ashamed I didn't think of it myself.”  
  
Dean’s freckled cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.  
  
“I'm sure you would, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”  
  
“Well, but I didn't. You did.” Sam stood up and opened the fridge. He almost grabbed two bottles of beer, but then he took the orange soda for Dean instead.  
  
“Hey, when I was in town, I saw flyers that say, that there’s a carousel fair. You feel like going? It’s not like we have anything better to do.”  
  
There was a light in Dean’s eyes and for a second Sam was sure the answer was yes, but then Dean bit his bottom lip and the light was gone.  
  
“That’s probably not a good idea. You know, because of the curse. We still don’t know what it is.”  
  
“I thought you just figured that out.”  
  
“It was just a  _theory_.”  
  
“Well, I liked it. And if something should go wrong, I will drag you back here myself. Promise.”  
  
“I've never been to an actual carousel fair...” the light was returning slowly in Dean’s eyes.  
  
“Then grab your stuff and come on!”  
  
Fortunately, the fair wasn't that far, so Sam didn't have to worry about a car. He didn't know how to explain to Dean that he was now the one to drive the Impala.  
  


-

  
  
Dean was enchanted by the sounds and the colours. And the food. Sam bought him a piece of everything. Not that Dean had asked. But whenever Sam found him staring at a food stand with the certain hopeful expression, he just pretended to casually mention that they might grab a bite. The way Dean was gleaming, as he stuffed his mouth with everything Sam bought him, was warming Sam’s heart.  
  
“For someone who eats so much, you sure are thin,” he teased Dean. “Where do you put it all?”  
  
“I don’t always eat this much,” Dean shrugged. “You should see my brother, he eats enough for the both of us,” he grinned.  
  
“You don’t  _actually_  let him eat your food, do you?” Sam narrowed his eyes.  
  
“Sometimes,” Dean shrugged again, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I don’t need to eat as much, so when we’re alone and low on food, I let him eat my share, so that he’s not hungry. But he doesn't know; he wouldn't let me do it. He’s really kind, you know?” he smiled.  
  
Sam’s heart constricted a little. He didn't even want to know how many times he had eaten and left Dean hungry.  
  
“I think  _you_  are kind. You shouldn't starve yourself for someone else’s sake.”  
  
Dean gave him a hard stare. “This isn't  _someone_. This is my brother.”  
  
Sam raised his hands in pretend-surrender and changed the topic, but it still left him feeling rather uneasy.  
  
Dean completely fell in love with the rollercoaster and Sam had to pay for three rides. He himself only took one, because it was enough to make his stomach twist and he definitely didn't want to puke in front of a kid. Dean’s stomach didn't even seem to notice it  _should_  feel sick.  
  
Dean was gleaming, when he got off the ride, but decided not to go for round four, in favour of exploring some other attraction.  
  
“Hey, can I get you a picture?” The fair’s photographer asked them and Sam looked down at Dean curiously.  
  
“You wanna?”  
  
“Sure,” Dean shrugged. It didn't go unnoticed by Sam, that he was trying to seem all indifferent about it, but he definitely wasn't.  
  
Sam put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. He smiled to the camera and the man parted with them, telling them to buy their photo at the photo booth, before they leave.  
  
Dean fixed Sam with a curious stare, when he wasn't pulling away immediately, so Sam quickly withdrew his arm.  
  
A man dressed as clown gave him a balloon and Dean glared at his back, when he walked away.  
  
“Do I look like a balloon-kinda kid?”  
  
Then he looked up to Sam and obviously spotted the way his face was pale.  
  
“What’s the matter?” he asked.  
  
Sam just shook his head and swallowed.  
  
“You’re not afraid of clowns, are you?” he chuckled.  
  
“Don’t ever take your brother into a place full of clowns,” Sam answered seriously, wishing it would actually change anything. “They’re evil.”  
  
“Whatever you say,” Dean laughed and then they heard a heart-wrenching cry.  
  
Few steps away, there stood a little blonde girl in pink dress, pointing at a balloon that was flying toward the sky and crying her eyes out. Dean ran toward her and Sam quickly followed.  
  
“Hey, girl?” Dean said softly. “Here, you can take mine,” he handed her his balloon with a smile.  
  
Sam’s heart leaped. His brother was such a sweet, selfless creature. He actually felt his eyes water slightly at the sight.  
  
The girl gaped at Dean for a few moments, then she slowly took the string that was tying Dean’s balloon.  
  
“Thank you,” she smiled warmly at him and without a warning, she launched herself into Dean’s arms.  
  
Dean was completely unprepared and just stood there shock-still, begging Sam with his eyes for help.  
  
Sam had to laugh, because this was an one-time-only opportunity to see his brother uncomfortable around the opposite sex.  
  
“Get away from her!” he heard a high pitched scream from a woman in her early thirties, that appeared by the girl’s side in a heartbeat.  
  
“I-I'm sorry, ma’am, I just-“ Dean tried to explain himself with wide eyes.  
  
“Save it, I don’t care. Get lost before I call the police,” she all but spat out. Then she kneeled down to face her daughter. “Are you all right, Lily? Did he hurt you?”  
  
The unfairness of the woman’s behaviour was making anger boil in Sam’s gut.  
  
“Listen, lady,” he approached her. “The boy did nothing wrong. He only tried to make your daughter smile, while you were god-knows-where, when she was crying.”  
  
The woman rose on her feet and glared at Sam.  
  
“How dare you-“ she stopped and looked down at Lily, who was pulling at her skirt.  
  
“He gave me his balloon, Mama,” she said, as if trying to back Sam and Dean up.  
  
“Well that’s really nice of him,” she said, snatched the string from her daughter’s hand and forced it back into Dean’s. “But we don’t need charity from people like  _them_.”  
  
She grabbed Lily’s arm and dragged her away.  
  
“Bitch,” Sam muttered.  
  
Dean smiled sadly, but his shoulders were slumped and he seemed to be on the verge of tears.  
  
“Dean?” Sam kneeled down. “Don’t worry about it, okay?” he squeezed Dean’s shoulder reassuringly.  
  
“Did I-,” Dean took a deep breath to contain himself. “Did it look like I was hurting her?” he finally looked up to Sam’s eyes.  
  
“What? Of course not, it looked exactly like what it was. You giving the girl a balloon, cause she lost hers.”  
  
“D-do you think...that maybe...when I'm with Sammy, it looks like I'm hurting him? Like he doesn't want to be there with me?” Dean continued as if he didn't hear Sam and his lower lip started to tremble. “Do you think maybe Sammy doesn't want to be there?” He whispered and the tears finally spilled. Dean quickly ducked his head and wiped them away.  
  
Sam just gaped at him. The way Dean was treating Sam all their lives, no one could ever accused him of hurting Sam. And Sam definitely never wanted to  _not_  be with his brother.  
  
“Dean...” he tried to hug him, but Dean backed away and tied the balloon to a railing, saying that maybe  _someone_  will want it. If hatred could kill, the woman’s insides would be all over the fair, Sam was sure of that.  
  
After that, Dean said he was too tired to continue their carousel exploration. It was a lie, but Sam didn't call him on it. He just shrugged and looked around for something to buy Dean, before they go. He noticed a stand with gingerbread hearts.  
  
“Hey, want to buy one for your dad and brother?” he nodded towards it.  
  
If possible, Dean looked even more saddened and shook his head.  
  
“Dad doesn't like hearts. I bought one for him on Valentine’s day. He laughed that it was something only girls do. I never gave Sammy his, I didn't want him to laugh at me too,” he bowed his head.  
  
Sam really tried not to get mad at their dad for this, because he was almost certain, the man didn't mean to ridicule Dean’s attempt of showing love. He most definitely didn't want to hurt his son. But he was sure that Dean’s reluctance to celebrate the day came from that moment in his life.  
  
“I'm sure Sammy would have loved it,” he sighed. “But as you wish.”  
  
He bought Dean at least some cotton candy and didn't forget to pick up their photo, before they left.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam let his hands roam over Dean’s back. Dean was all above him and kissing him thoroughly and Sam let himself dissolve under his brother’s touch. He felt Dean’s hand travel down his chest and then grasp his leaking cock.  
  
“Oh God, Dean,” he moaned.  
  
“God’s got nothing to do with this,” Dean rasped into Sam’s ear in a low, rich voice and then he nibbled on Sam’s ear.  
  
“Yes...yes...,” Sam breathed out.  
  
Sam was always proud of his skills as a sexual partner. He believed he was wild, fun and unpredictable. But Dean had a way of making him throw this all away and just lie down and melt in pleasure. Dean never passed the opportunity to rub his face in it, too.  
  
Then suddenly Dean stopped moving. He propped himself up on his elbows and his face started to melt. Sam stared at him in horrified shock and before he knew, he had his brother’s ten-year-old self’s naked body on his.  
  
“Sam?” the boy had a sense of concern in his voice. “Sam, wake up. Wake up!”  
  
With a jolt, Sam did. He was sweaty, his breathing was shallow and he thanked Heaven that his painful erection was hidden underneath the blanket.  
  
His brother was kneeling by his face, gently shaking his shoulder.  
  
“Nightmare?” he asked.  
  
“Err, no, not a nightmare,” Sam shook his head and swung his legs on the other side of the bed, so that there wasn't  _any_ chance of his brother suspecting  _anything_.  
  
“Oh, sorry,” Dean got up. “You were trashing on the bed and making these noises like Sammy sometimes, when he has a nightmare.”  
  
“Thanks for the thought, but it wasn't a bad dream, actually.”  
  
Dean studied him for a moment. “What did you dream about?”  
  
“Nothing,” Sam said maybe a little too quickly. He was  _so_  not having this conversation with his little big brother.  
  
“You said my name,” Dean said matter-of-factly, but continued his scrutiny.  
  
 _Shit._  
“I...uh,” Sam seriously didn't know what to say. “But you can’t laugh at me!”  
  
This was ridiculous. He was twenty-three years old. Dean was ten. Yet, Dean was the big brother here. He even got Sam to _whine_!  
  
Dean just raised his eyebrow, waiting.  
  
“I had a dream, that you were my brother,” Sam said finally. It was the furthest from the truth, without it actually being a lie.  
  
“You what?” Dean was obviously taken aback by that.  
  
“Well, you were older, of course. We were hunting together.”  _Yeah, hunting._  “It was fun.”  
  
Dean didn't look entirely convinced, but shrugged and plopped himself back on his pillow.  
  
“Sorry, there’s only one place for a brother named Sam in my life,” he said with a wicked grin. “I'm sorry I woke you up. Mind if I sleep in a little?”  
  
Sam looked to the window. The sun was already starting to creep in, but it was still way too early.  
  
“Sure, you do that,” he glanced at his brother.  
  
His only answer was the soft, even breathing from Dean’s bed.  
  
Just as well, Sam thought. At least he could go to the bathroom to take care of his raging hard-on, without being scared of what his brother might think.  
  
His brother didn't wake up until the afternoon, and even then, it was probably only thanks to the smell of the bacon cheeseburger, Sam brought for lunch.  
  
“You let me sleep in late,” he accused Sam, when he rose from his bed.  
  
“You were sleeping like a baby, didn't want to ruin your beauty sleep,” Sam chuckled.  
  
Dean glared at him for a moment.  
  
“Dad would never let me sleep this long,” he said then.  
  
“Well, your dad’s not here, is he?” Sam asked.  
  
Dean’s face fell and he turned around to enter the bathroom.  
  
“No, he’s not,” he said so softly, that Sam almost didn't catch it. Almost.  
  


-

  
  
Sam spent the rest of the day, trying to dig out something from Dean’s personality, before he changed into the soldier he knew.  
  
But Dean seemed to guard his personal space at the age of ten just as carefully as at twenty-nine. The only thing that was able to allow him to let go of his self-protection, was talking about his brother.  
  
Dean practically cracked fireworks, when he was talking about Sammy. Sammy likes to do this, Sammy’s favourite whatever is that and Sam loved him for it, he did, but the more he listened to him, the more miserable it made him feel. When did Dean get the impression, that Sammy mattered more than him?  
  
“Dean,” he interrupted softly his brother’s ramble about how Sammy learnt to read all by himself. “I know you love your brother, I can see it. And I really think you’re the best big brother in the world. But I’d like to hear something about you, too. What is  _your_  favourite football team? How do  _you_  handle the constant moving and school-changing? I want to get to know _you_.”  
  
“Why?” Dean looked up at him with genuine surprise.  
  
“Maybe cause we’re sharing a motel room for a start?”  
  
He heard the sharp intake of Dean’s breath, though he didn't quite understand what caused it.  
  
“Are we...will we be sharing the room for long?” he asked with something in his eyes, that Sam couldn't recognize.  
  
“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Until your dad gets back.”  
  
“Yeah...” Dean looked down at his hands and then got up. “Look, I'm tired. Can I just call it a night? Besides my life’s not that interesting.”  
  
“I'm sure that’s not true,” Sam hurriedly stood up as well.  
  
Dean yawned. It had to be the fakest yawn Sam had ever seen, but it got the point through.  
  
“Okay. Take the bathroom first. I think I’ll hit the bed too.”  
  


-

  
  
Sam was woken up from his slumber by the nagging feeling, that something was wrong. He immediately reached for the knife under his pillow and listened. There was nothing out of the ordinary. No one trying to break the door down, no screeching noises by the window. So what was it then?  
  
Sam was almost ready to fall asleep again, when he heard the quiet sound of somebody sobbing into their pillow. There was only one somebody, who could be crying themselves to sleep.  
  
“Dean?” he touched his shoulder tentatively, when he got up and moved to the boy’s bed.  
  
Dean’s body went rigid and Sam was sure he even forgot to breathe, but he didn't acknowledge Sam.  
  
“Dean, I know you’re awake. Come on, buddy, what’s wrong?” Sam sat on the edge of the bed.  
  
Stiffly, Dean turned around and sat up. He managed to wipe the tears away, but even if the dark room, Sam was able to make out his puffed eyes.  
  
“N-nothing, Sam,” he whispered, probably because he didn't trust his voice. “Go back to sleep, I'm sorry I woke you up.”  
  
He tried to lie down again, but Sam stopped him by gripping his shoulders gently, but firmly.  
  
“Dean,” he tried again with the best impression of Dean’s big brother voice that he’d used, when they were little and Sam was too embarrassed to tell him something.  
  
It seemed to work both ways.  
  
“I-I,” Dean stuttered. “I just...Dad isn't coming, is he?” he pierced Sam with a look strapped of all barriers or false bravado. It was just a scared, lonely ten-year-old boy, looking for his dad. It almost broke Sam’s heart.  
  
“What are you talking about, of course he is,” he reassured him. “I talked to him. He’s coming. Promise,” he said and wished now more than ever that their dad would just burst through the door, right this second.  
  
“He’s not, because,” sniff, “because he loves Sammy more. He won’t come back for me, when Sammy tells him, he doesn't want me there,” Dean let the tears fall freely from his eyes.  
  
Sam just stared at him with open mouth. None of this made any sense to him. Why on Earth would Dean think something like that? There wasn't a second in his life, when Sam wouldn't love his brother, no matter how pissed at him he might have been.  
  
“Dean, are you talking about the same Sammy I know? The little brother that looks up to you? Why wouldn't he want you there, he,”-  
  
“He  _hates_  me!” Dean hissed out and then clamped a hand over his mouth. The fear in his eyes gave out that the sound of it being said out loud just made it even more real. “He hates me...” he repeated.  
  
And then he just fell apart.  
  
Sam didn't give a damn about personal space anymore, he pulled Dean into his lap and hugged him tightly, rubbing soothing circles into his back. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or frightened, that Dean didn't fight him.  
  
Dean was trembling and sobbing in his arms and Sam’s heart was aching. If this Dean was so sure, that his younger brother hated him, then maybe, the older one was too. It would explain why Dean always seemed to expect Sam to just up and leave. Well that, and the fact that he actually  _did_  leave once. But that was long ago. Sam shuddered at the memory.  
  
Dean probably took it the wrong way, because he pulled away and wiped his face with his sleeve quickly.  
  
“Wow, I'm so sorry,” he tried to chuckle. “I swear I don’t cry like this often. Dad says that it’s something only girls-“  
  
Sam was gonna have some serious talk with his father, once he got here.  
  
“Dean, listen to me,” he interrupted him, hopefully not too harshly. “One of the reasons I don’t get along with your father is, because I don’t share his beliefs. I think everyone should cry every once in a while. Especially, if you’re ten. And I don’t think you’re a little boy or anything, even I cry sometimes. Hell, I feel like crying right now, because you’re torturing yourself over something, that can’t possibly be true!”  
  
“I heard him, alright!” Dean spat out, a little angrily. “Sam has nightmares sometimes. And sometimes, he says my name. Like you did. Only he’s begging me to stop. Stop what, I have no idea, but then-,“ he choked and continued in a whisper, “then he screams ‘I hate you’ and then he wakes up.” Dean bowed his head down and the shaking of his shoulders told Sam, that he was crying again.   
  
He pulled Dean once more in a hug and once more, he wasn't denied.  
  
“He cries and I hold him through it, but I'm too scared to ask why he hates me. What did I ever do to him to make him hate me? I love him so much. I never wanted him to hate me,” he choked out and then he just sobbed into Sam’s chest.  
  
“You should try to ask him. I think he’d tell you what those nightmares were about and then you’d know that he doesn't hate you. I know he doesn't.”  
  
“How could you possibly know...” Dean sniffed.  
  
“One look at you two together, and everybody would know,” Sam said with a smile. They used to hear it all the time, that they were closer than any brothers anyone else had ever known. It had always warmed his heart.  
  
Dean relaxed in his arms and his breath seemed to even out. It would make sense, if he was so emotionally wrecked, that he’d just fallen asleep. Sam carefully tucked him in and when he was sure, Dean was asleep, he kissed his forehead softly.  
  
“I do love you, big brother,” he whispered. “More than you can understand, right now.”  
  


-

  
  
It was late, but not too late for a bar to be opened. And Sam could really use a drink. Quite an amount of them, actually. This was getting to him, the taking care of his brother, who didn’t know they were brothers. The waiting for their father. It was like being a kid all over again. And he missed Dean. The adult version of him, that is. He loved the brother, that was sleeping in their motel room, but that was not the person he grew up with. Or worse, it  _was_  and Dean got so good at hiding his true feelings, that Sam had never known.  
  
Dean was hurting. He was scared and insecure. And probably a little angry. And Sam didn't know how to deal with it. It was all he’d ever wanted, to have Dean open up for him completely and now that he’d got a glimpse of how delicate Dean really was, he was scared. One wrong move, wrong word and Dean might fall apart.  
  
Before he knew it, he was downing his fifth shot of whiskey and ignoring third female trying to get his attention. He was too lost in himself to care, so he just ordered another round.  
  
Sam’s brain wheels were working overtime to figure this out. The whole ‘Sammy hates me’ thing. He used to have nightmares; that was no secret. And Dean used to calm him down afterwards. Whenever he’d fallen asleep in his brother’s arms, he slept like a baby, no matter how old they were. But he didn't remember having a nightmare about Dean doing something to him, that would make him say he hated him, let alone feel that way. He did, however, get nightmares with Dean in them quite often. Dean usually died in them, or at least got hurt pretty badly. He remembered clutching at Dean’s shirt and breathing in his scent, listening to his heartbeat, just to assure himself, his brother was still alive. Sam probably yelled ‘I hate you’ at the monster that hurt him. That must have been it.  
As he remembered the images of Dean’s various deaths, it brought out memories of his  _actual_  ones. Dealing with them required more liquor. He started laughing, when he realized he was thinking of his brother’s death in plural. Welcome to the life of Winchesters.  
  
“You've had enough,” the bartender said dismissively, when Sam ordered one more shot.  
  
“No, I'm fine,” Sam slurred.  
  
“Sure, go to the bathroom and back to prove it, then we can talk,” the bartender retorted.  
  
Sam got up to comply, but the room started spinning and he had to sit down.  
  
“That’s what I thought,” the bartender snorted. “Go home.”  
  
 _Home. Dean. FUCK!_  
  
Sam was out of the door, but not before he bounced into two chairs and one table. He was gonna have bruises later, but he couldn't care less at the moment. Dean was in his room, judging by the dawn that was breaking, he would be up in a few hours and Sam just drank himself off his ass. He let his misery take the better of him and now he was drunk and unable to protect his brother, useless...  
  
He wailed in his self-hatred long enough to reach the door of their motel room. He managed to open it on the fifth try and stumbled into the room. He slammed the door much harder then he’d intended and when he turned around, Dean was already stirring and sitting up.  
  
“S-Sam?” he asked in a sleep-croaked voice.  
  
“’S fine, Dee,” Sam mumbled. “Just stumbled over someth-“ he didn't finish as his feet tripped over themselves and he fell to the floor.  
  
With a sigh, Dean got up from his bed and helped Sam up.  
  
“Okay. Let’s get you on the couch,” he guided him carefully, but firmly.  
  
“You don’t have to take care of me,” Sam slurred.  
  
“I'm used to taking care of my dad, when he’s drunk,” Dean answered, as Sam sank down to the couch. “Seems like everybody needs a lot of alcohol to deal with me,” he said more to himself than to Sam.  
  
“Don’t say things like that...” Sam waved him off, fumbling with his pants and leaving them on the floor. “And don’t let me fall asleep,” he said after a yawn. “When I wake up, the hangover’s gonna be a bitch.”  
  
Dean looked around the room.  
  
“Black coffee usually helps dad. I saw a machine outside. I’ll get you a cup,” he said and got up.  
  
“Money’s in my back pocket,” Sam said, pointing at his pants on the floor. He already felt the pull of the sleep and hoped Dean would hurry with his coffee.  
  
He had never been more ashamed of himself.  
  


-

  
  
It felt as though he just blinked his eyes to Sam, but when he opened them, the stray of sunlight hit him full force through the window. Sam groaned, because the thumping headache was killing him and preventing him from thinking straight.  
  
 _Okay, Winchester, think. What happened yesterday, except that you got drunk like a skunk?_  Sam scolded himself.  
  
He remembered getting back to the motel room, Dean helping him on the couch...Shit, he’d woken Dean up. And Dean said something...something disturbing, something sad. What was it?  
  
He looked at Dean’s bed, hoping that the boy went back to sleep after Sam had fallen asleep. But wait, didn't he ask Dean _not_  to let him sleep? Wasn't he supposed to bring back coffee? Holy shit, he  _was_!  
  
Sam was up and moving toward Dean’s bed, before his body could have protested. There was a lump in the sheets, that he first assumed, was his brother’s sleeping body. But when he yanked the sheets away, there was no one.  
  
Sam froze for a minute, his hung-over brain trying to wrap itself around what it was seeing. Then his legs took over, carried him to the bathroom and his hands splashed some cold water in his face, to sober him up.  
  
He couldn't even look his reflection in the eyes, but he decided, he’d leave the deserved self-hatred for later. It wouldn't do Dean any good now. Dean went outside to get coffee. Because Sam was drunk.  _Fuck!_  And he never made it back.  _Please, Dean, be alright!_  
  
Sam was out the door in a heartbeat. The coffee machine wasn't hard to find. And there it was. The cup with coffee splattered on the ground. The proof, if Sam still needed one, that Dean didn't just walk out on his own, that he was taken. The cup wasn't in front of the machine, though, it was on the corner of some back alley. Why in the world would Dean go even close to it? Even at ten, he was well aware of all the dangers that awaited him there.  
  
Sam picked the cup up and crumpled it in his hand, furious with himself.  
  
“I'm so fucking sorry, Dean,” he whispered. Then he threw the remnants of the cup as far away as possible and punched the wall next to him really hard. All it did was blooding his knuckles and he was pretty sure he heard something crack, but he couldn't care less. It didn't even hurt that bad.  
  
He walked into that alley, not knowing whether he was supposed to look for the evidence of some supernatural presence, or of a human kidnapper. He wasn't sure which would be worse.  
  
He found a knocked over garbage bin. It didn't have to mean anything, but Sam didn't have any other leads. There was a window, probably to a basement of the nearest house, with a stain on it. When Sam took a closer look, he could make out the shape of a hand. Hand the size of a ten-year-old boy. Sam backed away quickly and his breathing quickened in panic, when he realized, what the handprint was made of.  _Blood._  
  
Sam ran his hand through his hair and looked around, desperately searching for any sign of where Dean was now.  
  
His blood froze in his veins, when he heard a muffled, tortured scream from inside of the basement. He wasn't sure, if it was even his brother, but he was worried sick of what could be happening to him, so he quickly searched for the door to the building. Only he couldn't find any. How did the fucker get inside? Maybe the door was on the other side...  
  
But Sam didn't have time to run around the block, so he used his knife to unhook the small window from its hinges and with a great effort managed to pull his body through.  
  
When he jumped on the ground, the heavy thump resonated through the walls, but he couldn't see anything, it was too dark. He stood completely still, all his hunter instincts on full alert, trying to catch the quietest sounds.  
  
He heard something, so he followed it, he himself sneaking around the basement as soundless as possible. After a while, he was sure he heard a male voice and sobbing. He all but ran towards the sounds.  
  
There was a dim light coming from a cellar. It was created by a lantern in the middle of it. Sam pressed his back against a wall and very carefully peeked inside. He stood frozen in horror.  
  
Dean was tied to some kind of pole; the rope was so tight around his wrists, that Sam could see blood. His mouth was duck-taped; there was dried blood under his nose, and tears streaming down his face. He had also a really nasty looking bruise on one side of his ribs. He was kneeling on bloody knees and he was shivering in fear and cold, because he was just in his underwear.  
  
“Such a pretty little boy,” the man circled Dean with a knife in his hand. “If you could just play nice, we could be so good to each other. But no. You had to kick and you had to bite. Someone has to put you back in your place. To teach you a lesson,” he hissed.  
  
“Get the fuck away from him,” Sam yelled and stepped into the room. He cursed himself for forgetting to take his gun, but at least he had his knife.  
  
Both Dean and his kidnapper turned their eyes his way, when he spoke. Dean’s face was a mixture of surprise and relief and he started crying even harder. The kidnapper took a few steps towards Sam. In the light, he was able to make out the black eye and split lip the guy was sporting. If it was Dean’s work, Sam had to show him some respect. After he got him out. And got rid of this perverted sicko.  
  
“And who are you, may I ask?” the man said with a grin, that made Sam’s stomach churn.  
  
 _I'm his brother and you should have never touched him in the first place,_  Sam wanted to scream.  
  
“I'm the last person you wanted to meet,” he said instead. “The last person you  _will_  meet, too,” he added and launched himself at the guy.  
  
He wasn't easy to take down. But he was no hunter, either, and Sam soon gained the upper hand. He beat the man unconscious. He knew he should step away now. The man was no longer a danger to him or Dean. And he was human. Crazy, sick and perverted, but  _human_. Sam should just walk away from him. But then his mind supplied him images of what _could have_  happened and  _would have_  and this man had taken his  _brother_  and Sam just couldn't fight the urge to end his life once and for all.  
  
“Close your eyes,” he said to Dean, waited for him to do so and then stabbed the kidnapper in his heart.  
  
He stood up, wiped the knife clean and then cut the ropes on Dean’s wrists and ankles. Dean slumped against him and in one quick motion; Sam got rid of the duct tape. Dean just clutched at his shoulders and cried.  
  
“Shh, it’s okay, Dean,” Sam whispered. “Everything’s okay now. I got you,” he let a few tears slip out of his eyes, but wiped them away, before Dean could see them. He took off his shirt and wrapped Dean’s body in it. “Let’s get you out of here,” he stood up with Dean still in his arms and proceeded to go back the way he came in.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam carried Dean all the way to their motel room, and even as he placed him on his bed, he let go of him only very reluctantly.  
  
He stood up and paced the room, growing angrier with himself each second. He was  _this_  close to  _losing_  his brother.  
  
“Fuck!” he yelled and kicked the nearest chair, breaking its leg in the process.  
  
He heard a sharp inhale of breath and his head whipped up to check on Dean. The boy was still wrapped in his shirt, arms wrapped around knees and watching him with fearful eyes.  
  
Sam slowly walked over to him and dropped to his knees by his bed to have their eyes at the same level.  
  
“You okay, buddy?” he gave Dean a small smile.  
  
Dean nodded shakily.  
  
“I-I'm really sorry, Sam,” he whispered. Tears started welling up in his eyes and he was blinking rapidly as he tried to get rid of them. “I know I shouldn't have-“  
  
“No,” Sam shook his head. “No, Dean.  _I_  am sorry. Oh god, you don’t even know...I'm so,  _so_  freaking sorry!” he exclaimed and without thinking he pulled Dean closer and kissed his forehead. “But you’re okay. You’re safe now.”  
  
Dean was just staring at him.  
  
“Dean, I'm gonna have to take look at your ribs, alright? I've seen the bruises, I need to check if anything’s broken,” he started to peel the shirt off Dean’s shoulders.  
  
Dean started shaking, he was watching him with wide eyes, full of terror and his lower lip was trembling.  
  
Sam wanted to ask him what was wrong, but then his brain caught up with him. While Sam might know, that Dean was his brother, Dean had no idea. The kiss on the forehead. Getting him naked. After what he’d just been trough.  
  
 _You motherfucking idiot!_  Sam scolded himself. He got the urge to just run out the door and guard his brother from outside until their dad came back, because he was screwing up more with every step he took.  
  
“God, Dean, I'm not going to  _do_  anything to you,” he said quickly, pulling his arms back. He tried to shove away the horror that washed over him, when he realized, that Dean would have just  _let_  him, if he was some pedo putting the moves on him.  
  
Dean took a deep, shaky breath and bowed his head, nodding.  
  
“You know what,” Sam said. “It can wait till tomorrow. Lie down, I'm going to bring you some clothes,” he said and got up.  
  
He placed it next to Dean on his bed and turned around to walk over to his own, when a small hand curled around his wrists. He turned around to see Dean on the verge of breaking down. His brother looked up at him and there was a silent plea in the look, he was begging Sam to understand it, but Sam just didn't know what his brother might need. He sat down on the edge of the bed.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
Dean drew his hand back and looked down.  
  
“He...,” he tried to say something, but a sob bubbled through and he was cut off. He clenched his fists until his knuckles were white and tried again. “H-he...” but he couldn't get further than that, before he started to cry.  
  
It almost tore Sam’s heart in two. He pulled his brother on his lap and hugged him tightly, rocking him back and forth, as Dean was clutching at his shoulders and crying his eyes out.  
  
“Did he hurt you?” he tried to make out what Dean was trying to say before the meltdown.  
  
Dean shook his head furiously and wiped his nose with his hand.  
  
“He said he needed help...he asked me to help him, that’s why I went to that alley. I wouldn't have otherwise! I swear!” he almost shouted between sobs. “But then he...he grabbed me and started to drag me away...I tried to run, but...I should have been faster...stronger...smarter...I'm so sorry,” he mumbled and buried his face into the crook of Sam’s neck.  
  
“Oh god, I wish I could bring the motherfucker to life, just to kill him all over again,” Sam growled, running his hand over Dean’s head.  
  
When Dean calmed down a bit, he pulled his head slightly away and brushed away Dean’s tears with his thumbs.  
  
“Hey, listen to me,” he looked his brother in the eyes. “What happened, it wasn't your fault, okay? No, it wasn't,” he said insistently, when Dean opened his mouth to argue. “All you wanted to do was help someone. And that’s usually the right thing to do. You couldn't have known what a bastard he was. And you couldn't have overpowered him; you've seen what it took _me_  to take the son of a bitch down. But I did see his face. Nice work,” he grinned at Dean, who seemed to lighten up a bit and actually smile back.  
  
Sam went to the bathroom to get their first aid kit to at least tend to Dean’s wrists.  
  
“There you go,” he smiled at Dean, when he finally finished the bandaging.  
  
Then his phone beeped.  
  
“Look, it’s your dad!” Sam exclaimed, when he saw who the text was from.  
  
 _Might take me a few more days. Found a hunt on the way. Gotta take care of it. John_  
  
Sam saw red. He immediately hit the dial button. Of course, the call went straight to voicemail.  
  
“You have to be kidding me,” he yelled to the phone. “You’re so damn  _not_  taking any hunts, you drive your ass straight here, you hear me?” he quickly walked out of the motel room, because he didn't need Dean to hear this. “This is about your  _son_! He got hurt yesterday, because I'm absolutely unreliable and a fucking idiot and he needs you here, dad! We both do. I'm not Dean, dad,” Sam almost cried now. “Dean could always take the best care of me, I can’t. I screwed up. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened, had I not gotten there in time...,” the sound announcing the end of his voice mail forced him to calm down, before he stepped back into the room. Frustrated, he threw his phone on the bed.  
  
Dean eyed him warily.  
  
“Your dad said he’s gonna take a few more days to take care of some hunt,” Sam said as he fell down on his mattress. The weight of everything was tiring him.  
  
“You can’t yell at him like that,” Dean said quietly.  
  
Sam raised his head.  
  
“Whenever someone yells at him like this, we usually never see them again,” Dean mumbled, looking down at his hands.  
That was true. John wasn't known for being overly friendly and of all the people, they used to stay with, when they were little, only Pastor Jim and Caleb actually stuck around, as far as he knew.  
  
“I know that it must be annoying to take care of someone else’s kid and you really can go, if you want to, I’ll be fine on my own. I won’t get kidnapped again, I promise. I just...I kinda like you and I wouldn't want to never see you again,” he finished quietly, not meeting Sam’s eyes.  
  
The knowledge that even as a stranger, he still managed to find some kind of a connection with his brother was warming Sam’s heart.  
  
“Hey,” he said to get Dean’s attention. “I kinda like you too. You’re a cool kid,” he grinned, when Dean smiled a little. “And I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you. I don’t think I will let you out of that door without a supervisor again,” he frowned and put an arm over his eyes. “You mind if I take a nap?” he yawned.  
  
“Nah,” Dean chuckled. “I’ll probably sleep it off, too. Night, Sam.  
  
“Night, Dean.”  
  


-

  
  
Sam was sipping his coffee and Dean was just staring out of the window, when suddenly he jumped from his chair so fast, he almost knocked it over.  
  
“Dad’s here! I saw his car! Dad is here!”  
  
Sam growled inwardly. Now he had to make up some fairytale about why would dad leave the Impala here.  
  
“Dean, wait-,” but the words got stuck in his throat, when the door opened and –   
  
\- John Winchester walked in.  
  
“Dad!” Dean was radiating with joy and relief.  
  
“Hey, sport,” John smiled down at his son and ruffled his hair affectionately. “How are you?”  
  
“I'm fine,” Dean said automatically. “But I don’t remember anything about being cursed. What happened? And where’s Sammy? Is he alright?” Dean spoke so fast, that John had to raise his hand to stop him.  
  
“Whoa, not so fast on your old man,” he laughed and sat down on the chair. “Well, the curse and Sammy...there’s something I need to tell you about that,” he shot Sam a pointed look.  
  
Sam felt his stomach twist as he joined his father and brother by the table, because Dean was just about to find out, who Sam really was, and that he’d been lying to him practically the whole time. He wasn't going to take that well, Sam was sure. But dad was here now and there was no point in delaying it any further.  
  
“W-what is it?” Dean asked, all his previous joy gone. He was paler than the walls now. “Did something happen to Sam? Dad, what’s wrong?” he demanded.  
  
“Easy, Dean,” John said as calmly as he could. “You brother is all right. In fact, he’s right here,” he nodded towards Sam.  
  
Dean gaped at him, not understanding what he meant. Then he looked at Sam with confusion.  
  
“Here, look at the date,” John put down a newspaper that he’d been holding under his arm, for Dean to see. “You’re not supposed to be ten, Dean. You’re 29. That’s what the curse had been about.”  
  
Dean took a shaky step back.  
  
“Y-you’re...Sammy? My little brother?” he gaped at Sam.  
  
Sam nodded, hating the look of betrayal that spread across Dean’s face.  
  
“And you've been lying to me this whole time? About everything?”  
  
“No, not everything, Dean,” Sam noticed the tears that sparkled in the corner of his brother’s emerald green eyes and he bit down on his bottom lip.  
  
“Why didn't you tell me? Did you think I would be too stupid to get it? Why was lying to your brother better than telling me the truth?” he shouted angrily.  
  
“Dean-,” John tried to interfere.  
  
Dean only spared him one glance, his bottom lip started to quiver and he ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.  
  
Sam looked down at his hands. It was all he could do not to run to the bathroom and try to explain himself to Dean.  
  
“I think you did the right thing, son,” John said gently. “Not sure if that makes it better or worse for you, though,” he chuckled.  
  
“I was afraid he wouldn't believe me and try to run away. He’s smart; he probably would have succeeded, too. I didn't want that,” Sam said quietly, not raising his eyes.  
  
“I know, Sam.” John sighed. “I know you did the best you could. But tell me about the super-angry voice mail you sent me. What happened?”  
  
“I'm a fucking moron, that’s what happened,” Sam put his head in his hands.  
  
“Mind your language, son, and tell me what was so important, that I had to skip a hunt because of it,” John said with a more authoritative voice.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam said automatically and straightened up in his chair. “I...I had a lot on my mind, so I went out to get a drink. Ended up having more than I should, and when I got home, Dean offered to get me some coffee. When I woke up few hours later, I found out he never made it back,” Sam leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, not wanting to see the look of disapproval on his father’s face. “I found him in time, fortunately. Some human sicko took him and...and he wanted to  _abuse_ him. He beat him up, too. But I took him down and got back with Dean.”  
  
He finally dared to look at his father. John was looking out of the window, his hands clenched into fists and chewing on his bottom lip.  
  
“You killed the man?” he asked without looking Sam’s way.  
  
“In a fight, yeah,” Sam answered.  
  
John just nodded. Then he looked at Sam and opened his mouth to say something, when the bathroom door creaked and Dean re-appeared.  
  
His eyes were red from crying and he hung his head immediately, when he noticed their attention.  
  
“Should I go pack my bag, dad?” Dean asked John.  
  
Sam looked down at his hands, because he took the hint. Dean wasn't talking to Sam.  
  
“Why would you do that?” John asked incredulously.  
  
“Well...Sam doesn't need me to look after him anymore...you’re both hunters...I'm useless to you, so I figured you’re going to send me away,” he quickly looked away to hide his tears from them.  
  
“What?!”  
  
“That’s not true!”  
  
Both Sam and John exclaimed. Dean took a step back at their outburst.  
  
“Dean, listen to me,” John kneeled down in front of his son and grabbed his shoulders gently. “Did I really make you feel like all you were to me was a babysitter for your brother?” he nodded towards Sam.  
  
“N-no, sir,” Dean shook his head. Their father pierced him with his signature  _I know the truth, so you’d better start talking_ look that Sam knew so well and Dean added quietly. “I just...you leave all the time and...you always say ‘take care of Sammy’, but you never...n-not once said ‘take care of yourself’, so I thought maybe I wasn't as important...I'm s-sorry, sir,” Dean started sobbing again.  
  
“You’re my son too, Dean,” said John as he hugged his eldest tightly. “You’re foremost my boy and that’s never going to change. I'm sorry I'm not there enough. But I love you.”  
  
Then he turned his head towards Sam.  
  
“How about you go grab us some lunch? Me and Dean got some talking to do.”  
  
Sam pressed his lips together, but nodded and walked out. He felt like being a teenager again, Dad excluding him from everything and taking Dean with him. Dean, who didn't want to have anything to do with him anymore. Right now, Dean probably didn't even  _love_  him and that thought was killing Sam.  
  
He grabbed some burgers, beers, and sodas and walked back. He had his hand on the handle, when he heard Dean from inside.  
  
“Dad, don’t leave me here with  _him_ , please!” Dean begged John and Sam’s heart clenched.  
  
“Son, I have to go. And Sam’s your brother. There’s no one I’d trust more.”  
  
“He lied to me, dad. I don’t care, who he is. The Sam  _I_  know would  _never_  lie to me. And I wouldn't lie to him, either,” Dean yelled.  
  
“Dean, you’re being unfair. Your brother loves you just as much as you love him. He did what he thought was right. If you think it wasn't, then tell him. Yell your guts out at each other, but talk this out. Because Sammy’s really sad right now, I can tell.”  
  
“He’s not Sammy. Not anymore,” Dean huffed.  
  
Sam had to blink furiously to force the tears back behind his eyes, before he finally opened the door.  
  
Both Winchesters turned their heads towards him. John offered him a small smile, while Dean just glared at him and went to his bed, making a show of ignoring Sam completely.  
  
“You going somewhere?” Sam asked John, when he put his coat on.  
  
“Yeah, got a tip on a hunter-friendly witch nearby, I’ll go ask her about the curse. So I need you to tell me as much details as you can remember."  
  
Sam told dad about the bottle of something that the witch smashed into Dean’s chest.  
  
"Okay,” John nodded. I’ll see what I can find out. You boys be good,” he said and walked out. He stopped next to Sam and hissed into his ear, so that Dean couldn't hear it. “You screwed up, son, but I can’t blame you any more than you already blame yourself, so I'm not even going to. But you got a brother in there that feels betrayed right now. Go make that right. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” And with that, he was gone.  
  
Sam glanced at his brother’s bed, where Dean was pretending to read some book. He was burning holes in it with his eyes.  
  
“Dean,” Sam sighed. “Will you listen to me? I want to explain-“  
  
“And how do I know you’re not just lying again?” Dean said without looking up.  
  
“Now I don’t have to hide that I'm your brother from you.”  
  
“You didn't have to back then, either.”  
  
“Dean,” Sam took a few steps towards the boy. “Are you telling me, that if you woke up in a strange motel room, with a dude, that told you he was your little brother and that you actually aren't a kid and you couldn't remember the past few days, you wouldn't make a run for it?”  
  
Dean actually chuckled at that.  
  
“Good point.” Then he put the book, he wasn't really reading anyway, away and his face was sad all of a sudden. “Nothing you said the past few days was true, right?”  
  
“Most of it was, actually. Except the beginning, I really hated lying to you. I always have,” Sam smiled a little.  
  
“Dad, he never...brought me here, right? He never told you how to take care of me,” Dean asked quietly, his eyes averted. Sam knew what he was getting at.  
  
“That had been a lie then, yeah. But when I called him, he  _really_  did spend good fifteen minutes telling me everything he could remember that would help me.”  
  
Dean raised his eyes, full of disbelief.  
  
“I  _swear_  I'm not lying this time. I can show you my phone, that call was long. You know dad, you know that he usually doesn't talk for more than five minutes.”  
  
“And what you said about Sammy...” Dean asked tentatively.  
  
“ _I_  am Sammy, remember? And I never ever hated you,” he crossed his heart. “You’re the best big brother in the world. I love you,” he smiled at his brother.  
  
“I should have seen it,” Dean said thoughtfully. “You look like him a little. Only you’re bigger.  _Much_  bigger,” he chuckled. “And your eyes. Yeah, I should have known.”  
  
“So we’re cool?” Sam asked and held out his fist.  
  
“Yeah, cool,” Dean nodded and bumped his fist against Sam’s. “How is he? You know, your real brother. The grown up Dean,” he asked.  
  
“You  _are_  my real brother, Dean. There’s no  _him_. And you are exactly the same as now. Tough, bad-ass, funny, smart and generally awesome Dean Winchester. Oh, and good-looking, too,” he winked. “The time you didn't spend training, you were hanging out with girls,” Sam grimaced, as he remembered the time, when he was always waiting for his brother to come home from a date, jealousy eating him, but he couldn't tell anyone, least of all Dean.  
  
“Why would I want to hang out with  _girls_?” Dean spat the word out as if it was poisonous, causing Sam to laugh out loud.  
  
“I'm so not having this conversation with you, Dean,” his face softened then. ”I've always been proud to call you my brother. And I mean always. The Sammy you remember now? He always wanted to grow up to be just like you.”  
  
“I hope he didn't,” Dean muttered.  
  
“No, I didn't, actually,” Sam sighed. “And I still wish, I did,” he smiled ruefully.  
  
Dean bore his emerald eyes into his.  
  
“Don’t say things like that. No one should want to be like me, least of all you.”  
  
“Hey, come here,” Sam pulled Dean in for a hug. “I don’t know where did this come from, what made you think you weren't worth much, but it’s not true. I'm proud of you. Dad is proud of you. There are so many people in the world, alive and well, only thanks to you.” Dean shook his head, so Sam held on a little bit tighter. “You are an amazing human being, Dean. I need you to believe it. Believe  _me_ ,” he whispered in his brother’s hair.  
  
John took that moment to walk through the door. Dean immediately pulled away and wiped his hand across his eyes quickly. John raised an eyebrow at them and Dean ducked his head, expecting to be chastised for his childish behaviour.  
  
“I'm glad you boys are okay, again,” John smiled instead. “So, I have good and I have bad news. The good news is, Dean’s going to be okay. It wasn't a spell, but some kind of a potion, so the effects should wear out. The bad news is, I have no idea when.”  
  
“So we’re just gonna wait and one day I wake up old again?” Dean asked.  
  
“Yeah, that’s pretty much the plan.”  
  
“So you...are leaving?” Dean raised his hopeful eyes.  
  
“Well, there’s still the hunt I wanted to take care of,” John answered, but then he took a closer look at his older son’s face. “But I guess I could stay a while longer,” he grinned.  
  
Sam smiled as well, when he saw the light in Dean’s eyes.  
  
Two bottles of beer, one can of soda, bowl of popcorn, old motel TV, a deck of cards and all three Winchesters together were the recipe for a perfect evening in little Dean Winchester’s eyes. Sam couldn’t remember ever seeing him happier, even though he lost most of the poker games they played.  
  
With the knowledge, that his brother would be back to his old self soon, Sam found it a little easier to smile and relax. Or maybe it was, because their dad was around. Either way, he hoped the curse would disappear rather sooner, than later.


	4. Chapter 4

When Sam woke up the next morning, he found his father already awake, sitting by the table and sipping coffee.  
  
“Morning,” Sam said sleepily as he made his way out of his bed.  
  
“Morning, son,” John smiled at him.  
  
“Dad, I haven’t seen you smile this much in like, ever,” Sam shook his head slightly. “It kinda creeps me out,” he admitted.  
  
“Want to freak out even more?” John asked with a grin. “Ask me what I was thinking about,” he added, when Sam raised his eyebrow questioningly.  
  
“Well, what?”  
  
“I was seriously considering getting a witch to curse both Dean and you to turn back into kids. Without any chance of getting back, except for growing up naturally.”  
  
“Dad?” Sam was honestly taken aback. It crossed his mind that maybe he wasn't even talking to his real father.  
  
“I would do so many things differently. This time with Dean... God, he was such a sweet, little kid. There’s a lot of Mary in him. And you, you were always so hopeful about everything,” John turned his head towards Sam and the youngest Winchester was surprised to find tears in his father’s eyes. “I'm sorry I ruined that for you. I'm so sorry.”  
  
“Dad, I-“ Sam struggled to find words, because this was everything he’d ever wanted to hear from his dad and now, that he had, he didn't know what to do.  
  
He was interrupted by a loud groan from Dean’s bed. Dean was sitting in his bed with his hands squeezing his head, his face a mask of pain.  
  
“Dean?” John stood up and was by his son’s side in a second, followed by Sam.  
  
“D-dad,” Dean managed to say between his gritted teeth. “My head. It hurts. Aarrgh!” he shouted and curled on the bed.  
  
Sam felt panic build inside him, so he hurried to find some painkillers and a glass of water, to keep himself busy. But John’s hand stopped him from handing them to Dean. John nodded to Dean’s chest. A soft light was coming out of it. Sam and John exchanged a meaningful look; the curse was wearing off.  
  
“Hold on to me, kid,” John said and wrapped his arms around Dean’s shaking body. “It’s gonna be over soon. Just hold on, Dean.”  
  
Dean was digging into the flesh on his dad’s back so hard, it had to hurt, but John didn't show any sign of discomfort. He just kept talking to Dean in soothing voice. Sam’s heart was breaking, seeing his brother in so much pain, but there was nothing he could do. The light kept getting stronger, until Sam couldn't see anymore, and when it finally faded and Sam blinked, his father was holding a very grown-up and very  _naked_  Dean.  
  
“Holy shit, my head hurts like a bitch,” Dean complained groggily, as he untangled himself from his father’s hold. “Must have been some party; I can’t remember-“ then he stopped talking, when he finally opened his eyes and focused on the person in front of him. “Dad??” he asked incredulously. Then he noticed the state he was in and quickly grabbed the blanket to cover his manly parts.  
  
“Hi Dean,” John grinned. “Thanks for the effort, but seriously, the joy of seeing you beats the horror of seeing you naked. Not like I've never seen you naked before,” he laughed as he stood up.  
  
“That’s what she said,” Dean said automatically.  
  
“Eww, dad,” Sam pulled a face. “Stop talking about naked Dean or I'm gonna tell you about my latest poop!” he tried to sound disgusted, but in reality, he was just trying to change the topic, because his dick seemed too interested in this one.  
  
“That wouldn't be the first time, either.  _God_ , did you love talking about your poop!” John exclaimed.  
  
Dean laughed, but his face scrunched into pain immediately.  
  
“I did not,” Sam defended himself.  
  
“Oh, did too. Blame that on Dean,” he pointed at his elder son. “I still remember the day he pushed you into my bedroom, saying ‘Dad, Sammy wants to tell you something’ and there you stood with such a prideful look on your face, so I thought you did something amazing. And then you told me about the poop you had! God, I didn't know what to do,” John laughed hard. “And your devil of a brother just stood there and laughed at the look on my face. Pretty much like now,” he added.  
  
And really, Dean was gasping for breath, tears of laughter running down his face. His face was red and if he wasn't laughing really loudly, Sam would have been scared he couldn't breathe.  
  
“Jesus, I almost forgot that,” Dean managed to say. “Your face, it was priceless.”  
  
When Dean finally opened his eyes, Sam saw the happy light in them for a moment and he smiled warmly at him.  
  
“Well, I'm happy I could serve as the source of your amusement,” he pretended to be offended. “How’re you feeling, Dean? What do you remember?”  
  
“I remember hunting the witch. She used some kind of a spell on me, I remember I couldn't move. She had a knife to my throat. I remember Sam being an idiot about it,” he glared at his younger brother. “Then light and then dark. Until now. And I feel as though I had a queen of all hangovers, but it’s getting better.”  
  
“I was just trying to save your life!” Sam said defensively.  
  
Dean was taking a breath to answer that, but John was first.  
  
“Well, I'm glad to see you are yourself again,” he chuckled. “But I really think I should get going. I've postponed that hunt for long enough.”  
  
“You  _missed_  a hunt, because of us?” Dean’s eyes widened in surprise.  
  
“Call it a miracle,” their dad replied, before he grabbed his stuff and walked to his truck. Sam followed him, and Dean joined them, once he found some clothes to wear.  
  
“Take care of yourselves, boys,” John said as he hugged both his sons. “And keep in touch.”  
  
Then he opened the driver’s door, got in and with a honk, he drove off.  
  
“Dude,” Dean put his arm back down from waving their father off. “That was super weird. You sure, that was dad?” he turned his face to Sam.  
  
“Uh huh, positive,” Sam said.  
  
“You wanna tell me, what happened, while I was out of it?”  
  
“Later.”  
  
When he was sure, their dad couldn't see them anymore; he grabbed Dean’s hand and dragged him back into their room.  
  
“Sam, what the hell-,” Dean was interrupted by Sam’s mouth assaulting his, as soon as the motel door closed.  
  
“Jesus, I missed you so much,” Sam breathed out, when he finally broke their kiss off to breathe. “You have no idea,” he said as he pushed Dean backwards on his bed.  
  
“I bet you did,” Dean grinned, helping Sam out of his clothes. “I'm a hot piece of ass, I’d miss me too,” he added before kissing Sam.  
  
“No,” Sam pulled away a little. “I mean yes, you are,” he corrected himself, when he saw Dean’s mouth open to argue. “But that’s not what this is about,” he threw away his shirt and pressed against Dean’s body.  
  
“Oh, really,” Dean snorted, but didn't push Sam away, instead his hands started working on his jeans.  
  
“Okay, this, maybe. I mean, it’s been days. And I missed this. But in the long run, it’s more than just you being hot and willing, Dean.” Sam stopped his ministrations to look into his brother’s green eyes, trying to get the message through. “I love you, Dean. This is it for me.  _You_  are it for me,” he stroked Dean’s cheek with his thumb gently, before placing a soft kiss on his brother’s full lips. “I need you to know that.”  
  
“I know, Sammy. I do,” Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you sure you’re alright?”  
  
“Yeah, I am now,” Sam kissed Dean again. “I love you, Dean. I never hated you. I wouldn't even think about it,” he licked his way down Dean’s neck. “Not in my worst nightmare. Always loved you.” A nibble at Dean’s collarbone. “And this Valentine’s day, we’re gonna do something girly. Like buying a heart, or a rose or a chocolate.” A gentle stroke of his tongue over Dean’s nipple. “And nobody’s going to laugh at us.”  
  
He bent down to continue his oral exploration, when he felt Dean’s hands roughly shoving him away.  
  
“How do you know all that, Sam?” Dean looked at him with angry eyes. “What  _exactly_  happened, when I was cursed?”  
  
“You were a kid, suddenly. You were like ten years old and you thought I was supposed to be six and dad should be around. So I couldn't tell you, who I really was. Not until dad got here. You wouldn't believe me. And...we talked and I-,”  
  
“And you thought it would be a great idea to pry,” Dean finished harshly and got out of the bed.  
  
“That’s not fair, Dean!”  
  
“No? I would  _never_  do that to you! I wouldn't even think of poking around your childhood, even if I got the chance!” Dean yelled. This had obviously upset him.  
  
“That’s because you  _were_  my childhood, Dean! You were everything to me. You still are. I can’t imagine taking a breath without you anymore. And I wanted to get to know you better. You keep all of these things hidden from me, and I hate it. You know, I hate it!”  
  
“You had no right to do that,” Dean wasn't facing him, he was looking out of the window, his shoulders were tense. “What else did you find out?”  
  
That got Sam on his feet.  
  
“What was there for me to find out?” he asked.  
  
Dean didn't answer. Sam walked behind him and tried to wrap his arms around him, but Dean took a step forward to keep himself out of Sam’s reach.  
  
“Dean,” Sam said softly and reached his hand out again to touch his brother’s shoulder. He knew better than to let Dean’s rejections scare him away  
.  
When Dean turned around, his eyes were filled with tears. His instinct was to hug the older man, but Dean took a step further, again.  
  
“Did you like what you saw, Sammy?” Dean spat out. “Are you happier now, that you know, that the brother you used to look up to, was nothing more than just another scared kid, constantly crying that nobody loved him enough? Tell me, are you here, because you love me,” he made it sound as though it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Or because you  _pity_ me?” he gazed into Sam’s eyes.  
  
That almost knocked Sam’s breath out of his lungs. Without thinking, he launched himself at Dean and pushed him backwards, until he had him pinned against the wall. When he looked into Dean’s eyes again, he was still searching for the right words. Dean was looking up at him, sad and resigned. Two tears made their ways down Dean’s cheeks. Sam cupped his brother’s face and brushed them away gently. Then he kissed him, trying to pour all his love, adoration and all the feelings that came with it into it.  
  
“Don’t you ever say things like that about yourself again,” he whispered against Dean’s lips. “I never pitied you, not now, not then. I just wish you’d trust me more,” he rested his forehead against Dean’s.  
  
“I trust you, Sam, you know I do,” Dean whispered back. “But I just-,” he was cut off by Sam’s mouth on his.  
  
“No buts,” Sam said resolutely and started walking backwards, pulling Dean with him. When they fell on the mattress, Dean immediately crawled atop Sam and bent down to lick and suck on his neck.  
  
“Wait,” it took all Sam’s self-control, but he pushed Dean off and flipped them. “You just sit back and relax,” he kissed him softly. “I'm going to adore and cherish the crap out of you. You don’t listen to me with your upper brain. So I’ll try the downstairs one.”  
  
He kissed Dean again, licking at the seam of his lips, and when Dean had let him in, gently licking every inch of his brother’s mouth with his tongue. His hands ran down Dean’s arms, until he reached his hands and then twined their fingers.  
  
He spent good five minutes just holding Dean in place, kissing him nice and slow. When he finally pulled away, Dean’s face was flushed and his gorgeous, kiss swollen lips formed into a smile. A real smile. Sam smiled back at him. There was the light of pure happiness in Dean’s eyes again. It wasn't all that rare to see it, but it definitely wasn't common. And now Sam realized, he had never seen it during sex. There was always love, affection and care in Dean’s eyes. Sometimes possessiveness or anger, too. But never this sort of peaceful happiness. It seemed like the message got finally through to Dean.  
  
“I love you, too, you know that?” Dean said in a husky voice.  
  
“Of course you do,” Sam said, nibbling at Dean’s ear. “I'm the best little brother with benefits in the world,” he whispered in it, before sucking Dean’s earlobe into his mouth.  
  
He let go of Dean’s hands to touch and caress every inch of Dean’s chest. He sucked a light bruise into Dean’s neck and then bit his shoulders, just enough to leave marks.  
  
“Mine,” he murmured against Dean’s skin.  
  
He felt one of Dean’s hands in his hair, while his other arm wrapped around his body.  
  
“Yours,” Dean agreed.  
  
That earned him another loving kiss, before Sam moved lower, to nuzzle his face against Dean’s lower abdomen, while massaging his thighs. Dean started squirming under him, just like Sam knew he would. He’d always been ticklish.  
  
Dean frowned at him, when he chuckled.  
  
“Not fair,” he argued Sam’s accusations of being a ‘ticklish little girl’. “Flip us over and I’ll show you, who the girl is.”  
  
“I'm so sorry,” Sam said with a sly smile. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of Dean’s boxers and pushed them down slowly. “Let me make it up to you.”  
  
Dean closed his eyes and his head fell back, when Sam’s mouth closed over the head of his cock. Sam sucked lightly on it and then took his brother’s cock in his mouth deeper, an inch at a time, until he couldn't anymore without the fear of choking. He used his hand on the rest of it and he started moving it up and down in the rhythm with his mouth.  
  
Dean was trashing and moaning above him, fisting the sheets until his knuckles were white. Sam looked up at his brother, just in time to see the lust-blown, wide eyed gaze, barely any green in it, looking down at him. Sam starting humming around the thick shaft in his mouth and Dean’s eyes rolled back.  
  
“Sammy, I'm not gonna last,” he groaned breathlessly, right before his hips buckled upwards involuntarily.  
  
Sam pushed them down and licked along the vein, then hollowed his cheeks, as he sucked his brother off. He could feel Dean’s balls tighten and he chose that exact moment to pull away with an obscene pop.  
  
“Fucking tease,” Dean all but sobbed in frustration.  
  
“Now, now,” Sam grinned at him, as he straddled his legs. “Such a bad language.”  
  
He reached into the nightstand for a small bottle of lube that he had to hide from his ten-year-old brother earlier. He poured a generous amount in his hand, rubbed his hands together and then grabbed Dean’s hands, lubricating them thoroughly.  
  
He bent down and kissed Dean, chuckling at the whimper his brother made, when he pulled away. He scooted up a bit, to straddle Dean’s chest, letting him kiss a wet trail down to his stomach. He put his brother’s lube coated hands on his ass, as he lifted off a bit to give him better access.  
“What are you waiting for,” he grinned down at him mischievously, when the older just stared at him in awe.  
  
“I-I just,” Dean shook his head. “Is this real? Are  _you_  real?”  
  
“Oh, I am very much real,” Sam smiled. “Now if you could get on with the program, both our cocks would appreciate it, I'm sure.”  
  
Dean chuckled and slipped one of his fingers inside Sam’s tight hole, after he circled it a few times.  
  
Sam moaned softly, and then harder, when Dean added another finger and started scissoring him.  
  
“You look so gorgeous, getting so worked up on the top of me, just with my fingers inside you,” Dean said huskily.  
  
Instead of an answer, Sam slid down Dean’s body and kissed him hard. Then he straightened back up and eased himself down on Dean’s cock, slowly, but without stopping until Dean was balls deep in his brother’s body. Sam loved the way Dean was trying to keep his eyes on him, but they rolled back as Sam sat down.  
  
“How do you want it, big brother?” he asked as he bent down. “Slow and gentle,” he sucked and licked at Dean’s flesh, “or hard and rough?” he sank his teeth in.  
  
“Oh god, you’re killing me,” Dean trying to control the bucking of his lips, but it couldn't really be helped. “Both,” Dean let out breathlessly.  
  
Sam grinned smugly and started to move up and down, at a slow, but steady pace. He let his hands roam freely over Dean’s chest and stomach, loving the way they rippled and clenched with the building pleasure. He quickened the pace and started tilting his hips. Dean finally let go, just moaning and writhing underneath his brother. His hips bucked up against his brother’s movements to get even deeper. His breaths were coming out shorter and shorter and Sam knew he was close.  
  
Dean screamed in pleasure as hot spurts of white liquid shot inside Sam. He took it all, milking Dean of every drop. Then he lifted up enough for Dean’s softening cock to pull out and slowly moved down to clean it off with his mouth. Then he pressed his body flush against Dean’s, taking in the quick rise and fall of his brother’s chest, as he was panting for breath.  
  
Dean was lying down with his arm over his eyes. Sam gently grabbed the hand and pushed it away, to take a look at his sated brother’s face. Dean’s face was flushed, his eyes closed and his hair standing up in all directions. Sam brushed his lips against his forehead.  
  
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, before he kissed Dean, letting the taste of Dean’s cum be washed away by the taste of Dean’s mouth. Neither very unpleasant, as far as Sam was concerned.  
  
The kiss was heating up and getting fiercer, as Sam got closer to his own release, rutting his hips against Dean’s leg.  
  
Dean drew his mouth away to whisper in his brother’s ear and Sam came all over his leg with his brother’s voice whispering ‘I love you so fucking much’ to him.  
  
He picked up a piece of discarded clothing, not even bothering to check what or whose it was, and wiped Dean’s leg clean, then he threw it on the floor.  
  
After that, he just snuggled against Dean’s side, pressing his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. He threw his leg and arm around him possessively.  
  
“Why do they have to make the beds so small,” Dean grunted.  
  
Sam smiled at that. It was Dean’s way of making an excuse for cuddling with his brother.  
  
Blindly, he reached for the older man’s hand and squeezed it gently.  
  
“G’night, Dean,” he muttered.  
  
“Night, Sammy,” he heard Dean answer without letting go of Sam’s hand.  
  
Determined to make his brother feel loved and cared for like this, for the rest of their lives, Sam fell asleep.  
  
He dreamed of Dean with grey hair, sitting on a terrace, drinking beer and reading newspaper. He would never tell Dean about it, but he would try his damnest to make this dream come true one day.


End file.
